A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Office
by Khell
Summary: Francine Desmond walks into an S-Mart ... Nope, not the beginning of a joke but what you get when you give me a prompt to write an SMK story containing the words "heavy, punctual, ash" and my strange mind makes an even stranger connection ... :) Rated T for all the fighting action, just to be on the safe side.


**Disclaimer: **Well, since this is a spy show, I'm sure someone's onto me. I don't own the characters, I'm only playing with them (and having the time of my life, if I might say so).

**Author's Note:** I don't usually like doing that note thing but I guess I should. This fic here was written for a prompt on my SMK forum. Prompt words were: heavy, punctual and ash. "Ash" triggered something, my strange mind made an even stranger connection and I went all "Oh - why the heck not?" One more thing you oughta know: In my very own headcannon, Smyth has always been the Agency's director - probably ever since Harry Thornton left. As for Blue Leader - well, _he's_ something completely different, as Monty Python would say ... Oh, before I forget it: The story's set quite some time before Season 1 of the show! Right. On with the story.

* * *

**A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Office**

Francine silently cursed. She was running late for a special meeting Billy had scheduled, and it seemed as if all the traffic lights in town had decided to conspire against her, delaying her even further by turning red just as she approached.

"Great." She tapped her perfectly manicured fingernails against the steering wheel. "Just great."

She barely spared a glance at the people crossing the street right before her. At least, until something caught her eye: A man... Nondescript, ill-fitting grey suit, dark hair, white shirt, blue tie.

Francine froze. That face... It seemed vaguely familiar.

The man reached the other side of the street. He would be out of sight in a moment or two.

Under normal circumstances, Francine would have let it go. It wasn't exactly unheard of, after all, that you met someone in the street who looked just like someone else you knew. Only no one she knew would ever wear such a godawful suit.

And she was late. The sensible thing to do would be to step on it and get herself to Billy's office as quickly as possible; Not turn right, park her car, get out and follow that man.

Only something – call it instinct, call it a gut-feeling – told her that this might be important.

So she pursued the man to a large S-Mart about a block down the street. He entered the store. Francine hesitated. Wait outside until he returned? Or follow him? She wasn't exactly dressed to avoid drawing attention to herself in an S-Mart. It was not exactly the kind of store she frequented, either.

_Well, maybe you should get back to your car and to that meeting. You still have a chance to only be a couple of minutes late._

Or she could enter the store and find herself in entirely unfamiliar surroundings. A large sign showed the floor plan and pointed the way to the different departments. Francine moved over and used it for concealment when she scanned the area for the man.

There he was, heading for the sports department.

Francine waited until he had disappeared between the aisles, then followed him. And kept following him around the store for another ten minutes. He stopped in sports to take a look at rifles, then in men's clothing to try on two new shirts that he bought, then moved on to housewares.

It was there things finally got interesting.

Francine was feigning interest in stainless steel salad bowls – they were on sale – while throwing glances at the man or watching his reflection in the bowls.

A woman joined him over at the cooking pots. She put down her plastic bag with the S-Mart logo on it and tried to reach one of the pots on the top shelf. In vain, though, since she was too short. She turned to the man, smiled and said something Francine couldn't hear. She recognized the woman, though.

KGB, not exactly top of the pops – yet. Her file claimed she was ambitious and making her way up the ranks. Much like Francine, actually, only that Francine had already managed to be noticed by both supervisors and senior agents – and not just for her looks.

_Now, what's a KGB agent doing here?_

The man returned the smile, put his bag down, too, and passed the woman the cooking pot.  
And then, it happened.  
Francine almost missed it.  
The man picked up one of the two bags. Not his own, though – the one the woman had been carrying.

_I see. A drop. Clever._

So her gut-feeling had been right, there really was something up with this guy. If only she could remember where she had seen him before.

"Ma'am, if you're looking for mirrors, they're two aisles down to the right," came a voice behind her, making her jump.

She spun around and found herself face to face with a tall, dark-haired man wearing an S-Mart uniform. When he saw her, his stance changed immediately.

"Well, hello, gorgeous! You've got the bluest eyes I've ever seen."  
_Seriously?  
_Francine raised her eyebrows.  
"They're green."  
She checked for the man she had been following - he was gone.

_Dammit._

She put down the salad bowl.  
"Thank you for your advice, though, I'll check it out."

The female KGB agent chose that moment to put the cooking pot back on the shelf, pick up the remaining plastic bag and head to the right. So the man probably had gone left. They would want to avoid being seen together.

Francine turned left, carefully checking between the aisles.

The store clerk followed her.  
"You're going in the wrong direction."

"No, I'm not."  
Francine stopped.  
She had to get rid of this guy. She whipped out her ID and showed it to him.  
"This is government business, so it would be very nice if you could just get out of the way."

"Sure, sweetheart."  
The man looked her deep in the eyes.  
"Call me if you need me."

_Sweetheart? Oh, please …_

"If I should lose my way en route to the mirrors again, I'll make sure to consult with you."  
Francine turned away from him again, carefully checking between aisles for the man.

Not carefully enough, as it turned out – and on the wrong side. It was bad luck, really, a 50/50 chance of checking on the wrong side first. And if she had been any slower to react than she did, she probably would have died right there and then. No, not probably – almost certainly.

Call it instinct, call it training, call it experience in the field; whatever it was, it spun her around just at the right moment. Francine found herself face to face with the man she had been following, with a length of thin wire in his hands he obviously had been preparing to throw over her head to wrap around her throat.

_Damn!_

Francine immediately backed away from him, almost stumbled, caught herself.

Piano wire. The guy was a pro. Which also meant the wire wasn't the only weapon he was carrying on him.

_You should have ignored him and gone to the Agency …_

Well, too late now.

The man advanced on her, backing her away from him, until they were between two aisles, out of sight. Francine glanced at the shelves on either side. Dinnerware, in all sizes and colors to her right, and nothing useful to her left, either. She was pretty sure the housewares section was supposed to offer carving knives – but obviously, they were in another aisle.

The man stowed the wire away in his pocket and drew a gun from his ill-fitted jacket. Francine straightened.

"I don't think you want to draw that kind of attention here", she said.

The man smiled, reached into his jacket again and pulled out a silencer, screwing it to the muzzle.

_Damn._

At least, it gave her time to draw her own gun.  
"Alright, drop it!"

The man paused for a moment. Then, still smiling, he took a quick, long step towards her and kicked the gun from her hands. It went flying and slid underneath the shelves on the left side. Then, he trained his weapon on her.

Of course, Francine could have gone for the same trick. She knew she could do it. The man, however, was taller than her, therefore out of her reach even though she was within his. And he was ready to shoot. Fast, as she had just seen.

She had to make him drop that gun; or at least, distract him so she could get close enough to disarm him, without getting shot.

Francine kept her gaze firmly trained on the man before her. She didn't want to give away what she was going to do. She took a small step back, swaying a little on purpose, and let her eyes grow wide as if she were scared. She used the small movement to disguise that she was reaching for one of the plates on the shelves to her right.

She hurled the plate at the man like a frisbee before she could start to second-guess her idea. She aimed high, for his face. There was a soft crunch when the plate's edge connected with the bridge of his nose.

The man swayed, making a startled sound.

Francine heard the soft "pop" of a shot being fired through a silencer. She wasted no time, however, on checking whether she'd been hit. If she was, it couldn't be serious, she didn't feel anything.

She quickly closed the distance between herself and the man to aim a high kick at his gun hand. And another one, when he didn't drop it immediately. The gun finally fell from his hand and skidded across the floor. Francine kicked it away, under the shelves – out of his reach.

She was careful to keep distance between herself and the man, though. He still had the wire in his pocket and if he managed to get that around her throat, her brilliant career with the Agency would be tragically ended before she had managed to prove to everyone yes, she _could_ do just as well as the boys – and even better.

The man touched a hand to his bleeding nose.

He glared at her and muttered something in Russian.

_Bitch? Nice. Nothing like good manners._

Francine gave him her brightest smile.

_There's more where that came from, buddy._

Unfortunately, the man had another ace up his sleeve – or rather, a switchblade. The blade sprang up with a soft click. It all happened in one fluid motion: pull knife from sleeve, open it, thrust forward to stab at Francine.

She had been prepared, though. He was a pro after all, so she had expected yet another weapon. The moment he reached for his sleeve, she reached for the shelves. She grabbed a large china platter, holding it with both hands like a shield, using it to deflect the stab to the side.

Detecting an opening to his left, she delivered a high side kick to his flank, thanking the fates for taking up kickboxing since joining the Agency.

The man staggered but caught himself too fast for her to follow up with a second kick. With a snarl, he aimed a punch at the platter, breaking it. The force of the blow drove Francine back against the shelves. Then, he was on her, pinning her against the shelves, his left hand around her throat like an iron clamp.

Francine managed to get hold of his right arm with both her hands, struggling to keep the knife away from her. Of course, he was stronger, and she was quickly running out of air. If she couldn't break his grip on her, she still would be dead shortly - whether he ended up strangling her or stabbing her would hardly matter.

She was looking straight into his eyes – the dark, cold, dead eyes of someone who had killed too many people to still care.  
It chilled her to the bone.

Dying suddenly became an all too real possibility. That man would stop at nothing. Francine felt her heart beat faster, felt fear start to coil in the pit of her stomach. She was going to die.

_Focus,_ she told herself. _You don't get scared – you get angry, remember?_

She slammed her knee into the man's groin with as much force as she could manage. He groaned in pain and doubled over, loosening his grip on her throat. Francine batted his arms away and delivered a double-fisted uppercut to his chin that made him stumble back. She followed it up with a straight kick to his chest that sent him flying into the shelves across the aisle.

They failed to support his weight – he went crashing down to the floor in a shower of egg cups, pie servers and other household necessities.

He still clutched his knife.

Francine stepped down on his wrist to make him drop it. Bad move, as it turned out. He seized her ankle and yanked at it, making her lose her balance. She went down with an annoyed cry. Of course – she should have seen that coming.

Then, she spotted her gun, only an arm's length away from her. If she could get it …

She pushed herself forward, but the man, still holding on to her ankle, yanked her back and twisted. She had to go with the motion and turn or have her ankle broken. She kicked at his shoulder with her free foot. He was advancing on her, still with his knife in his hand.

"Okay, hold it right there, scumbag", a male voice suddenly said somewhere behind and above her.

Francine heard the unmistakeable sound of a shotgun cocking.

"This baby here's a twelve-gauge double-barreled Remington. It's got a walnut stock, cobalt blue steel and a hair trigger. S-Mart's top of the line – and you do _not_ want to get caught on the wrong end of it."

Francine knew the man – the KGB-killer – wouldn't be impressed by such a threat. So his next move wasn't a big surprise. The speed with which he moved, however, was. Before she knew what was happening, he grabbed her, pulled her to her feet and spun her around so that she was facing the man with the shotgun. It was the dark-haired clerk who had spoken to her earlier.

The killer was using her as a shield, wrapping his left arm around her upper torso and pointing his knife at her throat.

"You want to kill me, you have to kill her, too", he said with a strong Eastern European accent.

The dark-haired clerk hesitated.

Francine didn't.

She slammed her head back into the killer's face, connecting with his already injured nose. The killer gave a grunt of pain and wavered. Francine drove her heel into his foot with as much force as she could and elbowed him in the left side hoping to make him let go of her or at least, loosen his grip. When he indeed did, she seized his right arm and threw him over her shoulder, down to the floor.

Of course, he immediately tried to get back up again.

Francine glanced around. She spotted a heavy-looking soup tureen on one of the shelves, grabbed it and smashed it on the killer's head. He fell back to the floor, out cold.

"And now stay down, for heaven's sake!" she muttered under her breath.

The dark-haired clerk shook his head.  
"Damn, that's one persistent bugger."

"You can say that again."  
Francine took a deep breath and swiped the hair that had come loose from her braid out of her face.  
"Thanks for your assistance, Mr. …"

"Ash."  
The clerk secured his gun and put it over his shoulder.  
"Housewares."  
He nodded at her.  
"You're bleeding."

"Oh?"  
Francine checked and saw he was right. Her left sleeve was torn and colored bright red around the tear.

_So that's where that shot went,_ she thought.

She hadn't noticed. She had been too busy staying alive. When she took a closer look, though, she found it had only grazed her. It hurt. It hadn't before.

"Just a scratch", she told Ash.

Now that the fight was over, she felt a little faint. Her throat hurt, too, where the killer had grabbed her. She took in another deep breath.

"Alright, Mr. Ash, I need something to secure this man here."

Ash thought for a moment.  
"Clothesline... two aisles down to the right. I'll get you some."

"Great. And then, I need you to make a phone call for me."  
Because she was going to make sure, personally, that now the killer was down, he stayed that way. She glanced at the shelves that were still standing. Plenty of items left she could use to hit him over the head with.

* * *

It took another half hour to wrap up things at the S-Mart. Somehow, the Ash guy managed to mess up the code she gave him. In the end she had to call for a clean-up team herself. He did manage to call an ambulance, though. The paramedic insisted on bandaging her arm, only letting her leave when she promised she would see one of the Agency's doctors first thing.

Of course, she didn't. It wasn't really that bad, after all, and by the time she parked her car in the Agency's garage, she was almost an hour late for Billy's meeting. She checked her appearance in the rearview mirror and frowned. She looked a mess. The bruises on her throat were already starting to show and her left sleeve was stained with blood. She took a moment to arrange her hair in a simple ponytail. A cardigan and a scarf, both still on her backseat from yesterday, concealed the bloodstain and the bruises. They didn't really match with the rest of her outfit but that couldn't be helped. Francine cast another glance at the mirror. She was ready to go.

"Desmond, so good of you to grace us with your presence."  
Billy's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Of course, everyone was staring at her when she entered the conference room.

"I'm sorry, I –"

Billy cut her off with a sharp look.  
"Not interested. Next time, you're punctual or you're out, got it?"

Francine nodded.  
"Yes, sir."

She took the empty chair next to Scarecrow. He threw a curious look at her before he returned his attention to Billy. He obviously wanted to know where she had been but of course, he didn't dare to ask just now.

"As I was saying before you arrived," Billy said, giving her another stern look, "We were notified last night that Antonin Malov is in the country. He's one of the KGB's top killers, so it's pretty obvious why he's here."

"That guy's more dangerous than a black mamba", Lee whispered to Francine and pushed a file folder over to her.

Billy frowned at him and went on, "Our job is to find out who his target is and..."

Francine didn't hear the rest. She opened the file on Antonin Malov. The first page was a large black-and-white photograph. When she saw it, Francine suddenly had to fight the urge to burst out laughing.

It was the man she had been fighting at the S-Mart.

She noticed Billy had stopped talking again and looked up to find everyone staring at her once more.

"You think that's funny, Desmond?"  
Billy was starting to sound really angry.

There were about a dozen answers she could have given him, the best one probably being a simple "No, sir." But then, she glanced at the photo again and something just went "zing" when it hit her full force.

Malov. Antonin Malov. One of the KGB's best. Of course, she had heard of him. She knew how many people – how many agents – he had killed. How often it had been attempted to catch him, dead or alive. How often he had gotten away, leaving the bodies of those who tried to stop him.

_I shouldn't have been able to beat him. I should be dead._

Her guardian angel, if such a thing existed, must have been putting in some serious overtime back at the S-Mart.  
She glanced at Scarecrow, who started to look a little worried now, then at Billy and then – she just started to laugh.

_Total mental meltdown,_ the small part of her mind that was still working properly told her.

She couldn't stop. Not even when Billy sent the other agents out of the room and joined her and Lee at the top of the conference table. The two men exchanged a long, concerned look. Francine realized her laughter was starting to sound slightly hysterical but still couldn't stop herself.

"Francine, what's wrong?"  
Lee gently seized her by the arms. He just so happened to hit the injured spot on her left arm. At least the jolt of pain helped her to finally stop laughing.

"I'm sorry." Francine took in a deep, shaky breath. She felt light-headed. Like falling and flying at the same time. "I'm sorry. It's just –" She shook her head, glanced at Lee, then up at Billy.  
"I don't think we'll have to worry about Malov killing anyone," she said.

The two men frowned at her.

"What do you mean?" Scarecrow asked.

"Well..." She almost started laughing again but caught herself.  
"He's in St. Mary's right now. He's being guarded by two teams and the hospital staff have been told to keep him sedated, just to be on the safe side. Of course, we'll have to wait until we can take a look at his full medical record but from the paramedic's preliminary, I don't think he'll be going anywhere anytime soon."

"What?" Billy straightened.

Lee gave an incredulous laugh and shook his head. "That's – how do you know? There's been no report about this."

Francine smiled. "There's been no report because it hasn't been written, yet," she said. "And I know because –"

_They won't believe you. No way. You, catching Malov, alive?_

She straightened a little, "- because I caught him."

Her announcement was met with stunned silence. You could have heard a pin drop.

"You caught Malov," Scarecrow finally repeated.  
He didn't believe her, just as she had thought. It was evident in his slight smile and raised eyebrows.

Francine nodded. "I caught Malov."

Billy folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the table. "How?" he asked.

Francine proceeded to tell them all about what had happened at the S-Mart earlier that morning. She tried to gloss over the details of her fight with Malov but couldn't stop Lee from pulling down her cardigan to reveal her bloodstained sleeve and loosen her scarf so they could see the bruises on her throat.

When she had ended her tale, there was a short silence.

Lee spoke first. "What did you think you were doing, going after Malov alone?" he asked, glaring at her. "You could be dead!"

Francine knew he wasn't angry but worried. She briefly closed her eyes and sighed.

"No, Lee, not could, should. By all means, I _should_ be dead. The only reason I'm here now – and still alive – is probably that he underestimated me. Wouldn't be the first time."

She'd met with that general 'Oh, she's just a _girl'_-attitude ever since it had become clear she was aiming for more, here at the Agency, than the steno pool or the reception desk. It usually annoyed the heck out of her but today, it seemed to have worked in her favor.

She glanced up at Billy.

"And if I had known I was dealing with Malov, I would have called for backup, you can believe that." She went on, "But I didn't. I just saw that man who looked vaguely familiar and as chance would have it, decided to follow him."

"As chance would have it." Billy huffed and shook his head. There was the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips, so Francine knew he wasn't angry anymore. He gave her a long, intense look from narrowed eyes, then he shook his head again.

"Get down to medical," he told her, "and have them check out your arm and throat. And then..." He hesitated.

Francine knew he was going to tell her to go home.  
"I'm fine," she told him. "Really. And I did tell you I don't want any special treatment just because I'm a woman."

Billy nodded.  
"Fine. Check in with medical, then, you write up that report and then, you go home." He raised a hand to forestall any further argument. "You caught Malov. That calls for a little celebration, don't you think so? And you'll celebrate by taking the rest of the day off."

Francine could have argued – but she didn't want to. If she was honest, she longed to be home and curl up on her couch with a large mug of hot chocolate because now that it was all over and she finally had time to think, she was starting to feel a little scared. Not that she ever would have admitted that to anyone.

"Come on." Lee clapped her on the shoulder and got up from his chair. "I'll take you down to medical."

"I don't need an escort, Scarecrow."

He laughed. "Yeah, I know, you're a big girl and so on. I'm still coming with you, though."

* * *

Of course, he stopped the elevator again almost as soon as it started moving. Francine sighed and rolled her eyes.  
"Lee …"

"I just want to hear whether you're alright," he said. "Honest answer."

Francine hesitated. Honest answer?

_Well, if I can't be honest with him …_

He wouldn't tell anyone.

"I'm fine, really. A bit shaken but nothing that a good night's sleep couldn't fix. It's..." She shook her head. "I guess it'll take a while until all of what happened finally catches up with me. It all went so fast. One moment, I'm fighting for my life in an S-Mart, of all places, and the next, I find out I caught one of our Most Wanted …"

Lee gave her a long look, then he nodded. "Okay. But if you feel like you want to talk about it or something, you give me a call, alright?"

She nodded but they both knew she wouldn't.

He started the elevator again.

"I can't believe it either." He smiled and shook his head. "You bagged Malov. Just wait until that makes the rounds. Smyth is gonna have kittens."

Francine laughed. It was no secret that there wasn't much love lost between her and Dr. Smyth, the cigarette-wielding Agency director. Their opinions about what a woman should and should not be doing at the Agency didn't exactly agree. Well, having caught Malov was just one more step towards proving him wrong. At some point, he would have to acknowledge that whether he wanted to or not. He and all the others who shared his opinions.

_Still a long way to go – but I'm getting there._


End file.
